


apples and oranges (yours and mine)

by darkangel0410



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Magical Realism, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: Dylan blinks open his eyes and feels only mildly surprised to see that he’s sitting on the floor in his parent’s basement; Ryan’s sleeping on the couch, in a pair of briefs and a Roadrunners jersey, the scent of sex still lingering in the air. He glances down at himself and the Oilers boxers he has on seems appropriate, along with Ryan’s number situated right over his crotch.“You have some weird dreams, Stromer,” Eichs says, walking into Dylan’s line of sight; he snorts at the sight of Ryan but otherwise ignores him and just goes over to a corner of the room where there’s some street hockey gear leftover from the tournament.





	apples and oranges (yours and mine)

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the Stromes-are-Daoine-Sidhe that I've been wanting since I started reading the October Daye series. I've pulled alot of elements from that into this fic, without most of the characters -so I guess it's more a fusion than a crossover, really. I added some of my own headcanons because I do what I want, but anyone familiar with that series will recognize 98% of this. Enjoy!

There were few things as disturbingly beautiful as a Daoine Sidhe in a protective rage, even one who’s bloodline was as diluted as the Stromes. Unfortunately for anyone caught on the wrong side of it, they were just as dangerous. Blood magic was feared by most people, human and fae alike, least of all because so much about it was unknown. There weren’t any other fae who could do what the Daoine Sidhe could and even fewer who understood it.

Blood magic is mostly intent and need, unless it involves someone else’s blood. Riding the blood isn’t easy to do, and it wasn’t entirely safe, either; most fae didn’t like it, having someone know with just a taste everything about you: every secret and desire, what you did and with who. If they were powerful enough, a Daoine could tell you what you had for lunch when you were five.

Blood remembers everything, nothing is lost to it, and it _will_ speak to the right person. 

Even if they don’t want it to.

*

From the start Ryan and Dylan were strange, even amongst the Daoine; very rarely are fae siblings born together, even ones with human blood. Even stranger that they both survived their childhood together and both still whole, in body and spirit and magic, at the end of it. From the beginning, their bloodline set them apart from almost everyone around them. Their closeness marked them as even more different.

It was inevitable, maybe, what they would become.

*

“Hey, corpse-licker,” Marns tells him when he picks up his phone; Dylan rolls his eyes and closes the apartment door behind him.

It would be an insult coming from almost anyone else, but that’s just how him and Marns are with each other.

“What do you want, furball?” Dylan asks him, snickering at the indignant noise Marns makes at the nickname; being part Cait Sidhe meant Marns could be very attached to his dignity at the weirdest times.

He drops his car keys in the bowl Ryan has set out on the end table by the door and toes his shoes off. “ _I went to England to see the queen and if she catches me, she’ll gut me clean_ ,” Dylan murmurs, tapping his fingers against the doorway while he does and then goes to raid the kitchen for a snack.

The wards resettle around the apartment, easily weaving around the fragments of Ryan’s magic still there; Dylan’s here almost as much as his own place during the summer, never mind that Ryan’s magic knows him almost as well as he knows himself.

“So, my landlord says I need to get rid of some of my cats and -”

“Dude, no,” Dylan interrupts him before he can finish, “I told you, I don’t like cats and even if I did, my building doesn’t allow pets unless it’s essential to my well-being, and it’s not, so fuck off.”

“I can’t believe you’re still telling yourself that lie,” Marns protests with a loud sigh; Dylan can hear the pout in his voice and he’d bet money that Marns was draped over the back of his couch, probably upside down. 

“Maybe you should stop bringing home every cat you come across,” Dylan tells him easily, only half-paying attention to their conversation while he was busy eating cookies.

“ _Georgie porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and got stabbed in the eye_ ,” he mutters under his breath, focusing on the package of cookies in front of him; the scent of chocolate and oranges hangs in the air for a few seconds before fading and Dylan eats the now warm and gooey cookies happily.

“You know I can’t help it!” Marns protests, a sullen growl lacing the words; he was genuinely upset, which meant his landlord must have really been on his case about it. “And besides, Cleo and Lilly already told me they want to live with you, so they’re just going to show up there no matter what you say.”

“Oberon take it, Marns, I don’t want any fucking cats, keep those fleabags away from me,” Dylan tells him, feeling his own anger rise.

“Too bad, so sad,” Marns laughs, his good temper restored now that he managed to piss off someone. “You can thank me later,” he adds before he hangs up.

“Fucking asshole,” Dylan snarls, tossing his phone onto the kitchen table; he glares at it while he finishes his cookies, as if he could curse Marns just by thinking about it.

He texts Marns, _dont want ur minions spying on me, send them to ariz to make sure your boyfriend can keep his dick in his pants_ ; it’s unnecessarily rude, probably, but Dylan hates being forced into shit he doesn’t want to do and that includes the furry spies his supposed friend wants to force on him.

Dylan’s still in a bad mood when Ryan comes home from working out, sulking on the couch and watching old episodes of _Pixie High_ ; he doesn’t say anything as Ryan drops the mail on the table, his gear bag hitting the floor soon after.

“I could feel your bad mood all the way from the parking lot, what’s wrong?” Ryan asks as he settles on the opposite end of the couch; Dylan immediately moves so he can sprawl over Ryan and rests his head on Ryan’s chest. He makes a happy noise when Ryan takes the hint and starts tracing the curve of his ear with his finger, the same tapered point they both share with their mom and Matt. “That bad, huh?”

Dylan grunts and burrows closer to Ryan, tucks his hands under Ryan’s back. “Marns just pissing me off.”

“Expecting anything else from a Cait Sidhe is just dumb,” Ryan tells him and pinches his ear gently; he laughs at the affronted noise Dylan lets out and grins up at him when Dylan sits up and straddles him.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Dylan informs him, stripping his shirt off and throwing it off to the side. 

“Can’t wait,” Ryan smirks as the smell of cinnamon and apples rise in the air, it disappears after a couple seconds, along with all of Ryan’s clothes and the rest of Dylan’s.

“Lazy ass,” Dylan complains even as he leans down for a kiss.

*

Dylan blinks open his eyes and feels only mildly surprised to see that he’s sitting on the floor in his parent’s basement; Ryan’s sleeping on the couch, in a pair of briefs and a Roadrunners jersey, the scent of sex still lingering in the air. He glances down at himself and the Oilers boxers he has on seems appropriate, along with Ryan’s number situated right over his crotch.

“You have some weird dreams, Stromer,” Eichs says, walking into Dylan’s line of sight; he snorts at the sight of Ryan but otherwise ignores him and just goes over to a corner of the room where there’s some street hockey gear leftover from the tournament.

“Go bother someone else if you don’t like it,” Dylan tells him easily; he’s long past the point where Eichs showing up in his dreams upsets or angers him. It’s just what Eichs does sometimes, part of who he is: he walks in people’s dreams and he can’t change that any more than Dylan can change what his own magic does.

Everyone has their own quirks and really, it’s better than some other things Dylan’s run into.

Eichs just shrugs and concentrates on his stick-handling; his shoulders are tense, his whole body held stiffly while he winds up and shoots into a net that appears at the other end of the basement. 

Dylan’s not sure how long it goes on for, Eichs shooting puck after puck across the basement floor that’s now all ice, their breath showing up in the increasingly cold air; he looks over at Ryan, who’s still sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling in time with his breathing. Dylan gets caught up watching him sleep for a while before he reluctantly focuses back on Eichs. 

“Not that I mind, but what’s up?” Dylan asks as he gets up and pads over to where the leftover sticks are propped in a corner; the floor feels warm against his feet, like the grass outside and the basement floor blurs for a second, setting a greenish cast to the ice before it settles back into normal. “Usually you’ve got more to say when you visit, dude.”

Eichs shrugs again, aggressively shooting pucks now; Dylan doesn’t say anything else, just grabs a stick and starts practicing his stickhandling, using one of the pucks that appear at his feet. It’s quiet for a few minutes before Dylan hears the distinctive sound of a puck going post and out, followed by Eichs cursing and breaking his stick over his leg.

Dylan looks up in time to see Eichs stalk off, his hands fisted at his side; he’s half-afraid Eichs is going to start throwing punches at the wall or something, but he just takes a couple deep breaths and glares at the wall like it just threatened his first-born.

“Hey, Jack, what’s wrong?” Dylan asks quietly, dropping his stick and goes over to him, places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. 

“I just,” Eichs bites his lip for a second before he exhales noisily and suddenly collapses into the couch that appears next to them; he buries his head in his hands and Dylan feels the first stirring of real worry in his stomach at the sight: he’s never seen Eichs look this defeated and tired before. “Connor told me not to bother you, but I think someone else needs to know and I’m not -I’m not going to keep quiet about this,” he goes on softly, like he’s had this argument with someone a dozen times already.

“Eichs -Jack, what happened? Is Connor ok?” Dylan asks, his heart beating fast; he can feel panic starting to claw its way through his system, his magic gathering involuntarily, preparing for an attack that Dylan wasn’t even sure would come. He forces it all back down, whatever happened, he’s going to need a clear head, and sits next to Eichs on the couch. 

“Yeah, he’s not hurt or anything,” Eichs answers him, looking at him before glancing away, “not physically at least.

“There’s just a,” Eichs trails off, clearly searching for the right words; Dylan tamps down on his impatience, whatever’s going on, it’s thrown Eichs for a loop and that’s strange enough to give Dylan pause. “Oilers management is giving Connor a hard time about the extension, and they’re trying to get him to, uh, give them some assurance that he won’t walk out on them.”

“They already have his rights for the next decade,” Dylan points out carefully; it’s a sore subject among players, that anyone should be able to keep them bound to one team like that. It feels too much like imprisonment and that always chafes for their kind. “What more do they want from him?”

Eichs nods like he was expecting Dylan to say that. “You know Connor gave me his skin last year, right? For our anniversary?”

The abrupt change in topic makes Dylan blink in confusion but he nods anyway, “Yeah, it’s tradition in his family, they give their skin to their mate, to symbolize their devotion or some shit. Congrats, Eichs, you’re selkie-married now, what does this have to do -wait. Wait,” Dylan repeats angrily, sitting upright. “Did those assholes take his skin?”

“They _tried_ ,” Eichs tells him, relaxing a little bit; he bumps his shoulder against Dylan’s in reassurance before adds, “They asked him about it, like they were concerned someone might steal it,” Eichs spits out, anger coloring his words; his magic hits Dylan’s nose, snow and dogwood flowers, thick in the air for a few seconds until he gets it back under control. “He got a call about the apartment in Edmonton getting broken into -well, someone tried to break in,” he smirks now, clearly pleased with himself, “I set the wards myself before he went back to Toronto and I hope whoever tried to get in enjoys speaking in rhymes and singing showtunes while missing most of their fingers.”

Eichs smugness about his wards was well-warranted, he had a lot of brownie in his ancestry and they excelled at protective magic, especially when it involved their loved ones, and Dylan knows Eichs is as serious about his magic as he is hockey. It was a point of pride for him.

“It’s safe, right? Davo’s skin? You know where it’s at?” Dylan asks, unable to stop himself; there was a lot of nasty magic that you could weave with a selkie’s skin and none of them were anything he would wish on someone he hated, never mind his best friend.

“Stromer, I promise you, I know exactly where it is,” Eichs tells him seriously; he turns bright red and adds, “I, uh, sleep with it sometimes, so it’s right next to me.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Dylan coos and pinches Eichs’s cheek; he snorts and elbows Dylan in the side, his face still bright red. They’re both a little more relaxed now, especially Eichs who’s lost most of the tension he showed up with. 

“Is Davo still in Toronto?” Dylan asks, already planning on going over to Davo’s apartment with Ryan or Marns, maybe both of them; he’s pretty sure no matter how shady Chiarelli is, he won’t try anything in the middle of downtown, but if Dylan’s wrong, Ryan and Marns would be the best back-up he could have with him. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t leave until the weekend,” Eichs answers, looking a little put out. “I tried to get him to leave sooner, but he’s got a meeting with his agent or some shit, and he threatened to kick my ass if I came there.”

Eichs rolls his eyes, as if the idea of Davo kicking anyone’s ass was that ridiculous, but he was willing to let him go on believing it anyway. “And he didn’t want me to tell anyone else, because he doesn’t want to upset you guys, but his parents are in Bumfuck, Ireland for another month, and Cam’s gone to Egypt or wherever the fuck to study those new river unicorns, and I don’t want him up there without anyone who knows what’s going on.

“I’d sooner trust a pixie in a candy store than Chiarelli to keep his word,” Eichs adds darkly, glaring at the wall again; he was just venting this time, Dylan’s pretty sure, there’s no telltale scent of his magic in the air and he was still more relaxed than he had been earlier. “And if I could get away with cutting him up into little pieces and feeding him to trollhounds, I would, but,” he trials off and Dylan’s not surprised when the wall in front of them flickers into a movie screen, and there’s a scene more suited to a horror movie than a dream in the middle of a long nap on a couch.

“Want some?” Eichs asks, holding a jumbo sized bucket of popcorn towards him; Dylan knows it’s not real, but it smells fucking amazing, all butter and salt, and Dylan loves popcorn, so he grabs a handful and leans back to watch someone who looks suspiciously familiar get torn apart by wild trollhounds until he wakes up again.

*

Dylan wakes up alone on the couch, still naked, and it takes a few seconds before he realizes Ryan’s in the kitchen, talking to someone, and he gets to his feet just as he remembers his conversation with Marns earlier.

“That absolute catfucker,” Dylan curses when he stumbles into the room and Ryan’s feeding two of the biggest housecats he’s ever seen on the kitchen table, eating daintily from bowls of what looks like the leftover chicken from last night. “I told him to keep his fucking spies away from me.”

The cats both look at him disdainfully before they turn to stare at each other for what seems like longer than a few seconds; the black and white one sits down and washes her paw, staring at Dylan the whole time, her expression clearly saying she found him wanting in every way. The gray one rubs her head along Ryan’s shoulder before she jumps down and starts exploring the apartment.

“Awesome, can’t wait to be judged every day by something covered in fur,” Dylan huffs out, already resigned to putting up with the cats until he left for Arizona. Marns was a stubborn asshole at the best of times and Dylan knew the cats would just keep showing up in the house until Marns told them to stop. 

“It’s not that bad,” Ryan tells him, amusement clear in his voice; he ruffles dylan’s hair and then pets the black and white cat on his way to the fridge. 

The cat looks affronted and promptly jumps off the table and stalks from the room, growling under her breath the whole time.

“Want to go out for dinner?” Ryan asks after he opens the fridge and makes a face at whatever he sees in there.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dylan says absently as he picks up his phone from the table; he remembers his dream and taps his fingers on the table three times before he unlocks his phone. “We have to stop at Davo’s though, I basically promised Jack when I saw him.”

_cleo’s gray and lilly is black and white_ is the first text Dylan sees from Marns, it’s followed by a bunch of heart and cat emojis, and Dylan ignores both of them to type out, _ur going to davos w us, b ready at 7_ , then brings up Eichs number.

_going to see davo in an hour or so, will make sure hes ok_ is what Dylan sends followed by, _do u want a cat?? asking bc marns sicced two of his on me_ , when he hears Lilly and Cleo meowing at each other.

He gets up then and drapes himself over Ryan’s back, murmurs, “ _Sing a song for sixpence, pocket full of rye, four and twenty blunts makes me want some pie,_ ” and blows a raspberry against Ryan’s shoulder when he starts laughing. The scent of chocolate and oranges hang around them and by the time it fades they’re dressed in jeans and t-shirts, ready to put on some shoes and go out.

“Do I even want to know?” Ryan asks as they’re going out the door; he locks the door the mundane way, then taps it with his knuckles three times and sings, “ _She say ‘do you love me’, I tell her ‘only partly: I only love my bed and my brother, I’m sorry’_.”

Dylan elbows him in the ribs, grinning; it’s more a love tap than anything else and he knows Ryan gets it because he smirks at him and slings an arm around his shoulders, pulls Dylan close enough to drop an affectionate kiss on his forehead.

“So Eichs showed up in my dream today,” Dylan tells him, the comforting scent of Ryan’s magic following them down the hall as the wards resettle around the apartment again.

**Author's Note:**

> -people know about the fae in this and have for a long time   
>  -Jack's a lot of things in this, mostly brownie and barrow wight. He's also a oneiromancer, which means he can walk in other people's dreams and sometimes use dreams to predict the future.  
>  -Connor's a selkie, as is the rest of his family, and yes, him and Jack are selkie-married. It's just as cute as you're thinking, trust me.  
>  -Dylan and Ryan, along with their mom and Matt, are Daoine Sidhe. They're pretty bad ass (as well as being stuck-up assholes alot of the time, but no one's perfect, eh?) Their dad's human.  
>  -Dylan and Ryan are fraternal twins in this, it's a pretty big anomaly for them both to survive to adulthood without killing each other.  
>  -Mitch is half Cait Sidhe, mixed with human and a little bit of Piskie for good measure.  
>  -Auston's only mentioned briefly in this but he's part Dochas Sidhe and part Daoine, and human.   
>  -It's not letting me link to the pages of the wiki, but I recommend checking out: http://october-daye.wikia.com/wiki if you want any other background info on them.


End file.
